


Good Evening, Melancholy

by SleepDeprivedBitch



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, I Love Stanley Uris, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Streddie, band au, because they deserve it, eddie's a drummer, mike plays bass, richie's the guitarist, stanley sings, they're all young adults in this, they're also idiots, they're in a punk rock band called the loser's club can i get any more cliche, this fic is a coping mechanism, trigger warning for parental abuse but not much i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepDeprivedBitch/pseuds/SleepDeprivedBitch
Summary: In which Stanley finds a new life and a family for himself via a punk-rock garage band called The Losers Club.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 25
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW for the very beginning of this chapter: parental abuse.
> 
> Song featured in this chapter: Goofy's Concern - Butthole Surfers (lmao)

Stanley, for as long as he could remember, had an incessantly nagging thought in the back of his mind that wondered when the other shoe would drop and upend his life as he knew it. 

Tonight, it happened to do just that. 

At this particular moment, however, Stan couldn’t really process anything happening to him. The scene started out like all the others, except a key difference here involved Stanley having the upper hand. His mind blankly spectated the purple-faced figure before him screaming obscenities, but he couldn’t hear a word. His father looked like a muted television program, all colors and lines and static, but nothing of any actual substance. The only emotion running through Stan’s mind was dark amusement at how fleeting the facade of power could really be; as soon as the curtain drew and all his father’s tricks were revealed, nothing was left behind but a broken, rotting shell of a man. 

Suddenly, Stan felt a shove. 

“ _ANSWER ME._ ”

Stan blinked. “What?”

His tone evolved into an acidic quiet. Stanley knew this nuanced shift well--- he felt a prickle underneath his skin at the sense of oncoming danger. “ _Do you have any idea how you make me look?_ ” A fist grabbed at the collar of Stan’s shirt. “ _The Rabbi’s son... You’re born into a respected family, but you’re nothing but a lazy sack of shit; everyone sees it. As much as I’ve tried over the years, you never have, and never will become a man, you understand me? You’ve become absolutely nothing._ ” 

Stanley’s blood ran cold. “With all due respect, Father-- pretty sure I don’t need to do anything to make you look like a fucking fraud.” A deadly silence fell between the two of them. Stan almost couldn’t hear himself over the heartbeat pounding in his ears like drums, echoing the first time Stan had ever spoken up for himself.

“ _How DARE you insinuate-_ ”

Stanley continued over him, far too high on adrenaline to stop. “-And you’re allowed to delegate what makes a man? That’s actually hilarious, considering I just saw you-”

A hard punch to the nose can do a lot to shut somebody up. Stan collided with the ground, hard. 

“ _Here’s what you’re going to do, Stanley. You’re going to get the fuck out of my house. Live on the goddamn streets for all I care…_ ” As much as he tried, Stan couldn’t make out the entirety of his father’s speech through his own choking sobs. “ _...if you cause any form of trouble for me from here on out…_ ” All Stan could see was blobs of color through the tears welling up in his eyes. He was rendered speechless, muzzled as soon as he broke free from restraint for the first time in his life.

The last words his father ever spoke to him rang through his ears, leaving no space for anything else. 

“ _I regretfully brought you into this world Stanley, but we are no longer family. No son of mine would grow up to be such a loser._ ”

And that was that.

Footsteps echoed out of Stan’s room before his door slammed hard enough to vibrate through his already trembling form. Childlike fear resurfaced and transported him to a time not long ago; a time before Stanley Uris realized he was a person who mattered. A voice in his mind that had come out of hiding, the one that gently allowed him to realize how much he didn’t deserve this, grew quieter by the second. His father’s words were so much louder. So much clearer. 

After a few moments, he gathered pieces of himself together to dial a number he prayed was still correct after all this time. As it rang, Stan let out shaky breaths and prayed he would even be able to speak. After the fourth ring, there was an answer. 

"He- Hello?"

"...Bill? It's- It’s Stanley."

***

Hours later, Stanley sat on a bench at the edge of town clutching onto a guitar case and any other necessary possessions he could fit inside a backpack. He figured he must look fucking insane sat out in the cold with a bloody nose and tear-stained cheeks, but Stan, normally very concerned with how he looked to others, couldn’t bring himself to care. Reality was altered, and every bit of snowy slush that crunched underneath tires of cars passing brought a new crashing wave of anxiety down on his disassociated haze. He welcomed it, as this feeling was the only kind that truly felt familiar to him.

_He probably won’t even show up._

_You haven’t talked to him in years. Do you still think he cares about you?_

_It was your own fault this happened._

_No son of mine would grow up to be such a loser._

Stanley considered himself to be a very logical individual. He knew from countless Google searches that these thoughts in his head were nothing more than cognitive distortions, but he couldn't help but note they had a point more often than not. Other boys his age had already moved out by now. Other boys were able to go to college and function in society. He was falling behind, but as everything collapsed around him, he could do nothing but apathetically spectate. Therefore, he would continue falling and await the unforgiving ground below. 

Tears dotted the guitar case he held like a lifeline. 

“St-Stan? Holy fu- holy fuck…”

Bill looked different from how Stan remembered him-- he looked older, more defined, in a way. He figured that was to be expected, since Stan hadn’t seen him since he was in Freshman year, although Stan was slightly relieved to see his eyes were still as kind as he recalled them to be. 

“I’m sorry I made you come all this way-”

“Shut up. I’m h-here for you. End of st-story.”  
Exhaustion overcame him almost instantaneously. Bill reached down to wipe a tear from his face, and nothing in Stan resisted leaning into the touch. “Y-you ob-obvios- obviously don’t have to t-tell me everything right n-now. Let’s get you ho- ome, okay?”

“Home…” Stan repeated dumbly. 

“Y-yeah. My place. You think I’m ever let-letting you go b-back there?”

Stan smiled to himself, now feeling a bit stronger. Slowly, he rose himself up from the bench and gathered his belongings. Bill silently helped Stanley load them in the back of his very shitty-looking SUV, where Stan immediately clutched onto Bill and let silent tears fall. Suddenly, as he felt broad arms wrap around him in answer, everything grew steadier. 

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Y-you shouldn’t th-thank me yet. I’m a m-messy ass roommate.”

All Stan could do was be held together. 

***

Stan slept for the entirety of the car ride back. A nap really did wonders for the clearing of a mind. As soon as they made it back to Bill’s place, it was nearing 11 at night, but Stan was more awake than he ever thought possible. As soon as they walked in, Stan noticed Bill’s apartment was indeed messy, which bothered him more than a bit, but he reckoned Bill wouldn’t mind much if he cleaned it tomorrow. The standard living space didn’t spare much decor, but upon further inspection, Stan already knew his favorite area of the house was located in the corner of the living room where Bill’s vinyl collection surrounded a small record player.

After cleaning up Stan’s face and putting his bags in the spare room, they sat on the couch without bothering to put on the TV. “Wh-what’s on your m-mind, Stan?” He leaned back against the couch and looked over at a concerned Bill.

Stan decided to be honest. “I’ve gone through so much shit today, and I really don’t feel anything at all. All I know is that I missed you.” _And very much don’t deserve anything you just did for me._

“I m-missed you, too, St-Stan the Man.” Bill laughed softly before giving him a blatant once-over. “By the way, n-not to creep you o-out or anyth- thing, but… Y-You got hot, dude.”

A warm feeling spread throughout Stan, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Says you.” Bill rolled his eyes. “Seriously!”

“T-too bad I h-have a boy-fr-friend.” Bill smirked good-naturedly, but Stan’s curiosity was piqued. 

“Really? I thought you were dating- what’s her name?”

“B-Bev?”

“Yeah!” 

“Y-Yeah, man, in like, s-sophomore year. Sh-she actually intro- introduced me t-to Mike.” Wow. He really did miss a bunch. Still, his curiosity lingered. 

“I didn’t know you were into guys…”

Bill quirked an eyebrow. “Th-that a problem?”

“No! No, not at all.” Stan’s slight alarm was evident. He prayed it wasn’t overly suspicious. “I mean, I know my dad wasn’t okay with it, but I never understood why it was such a big deal, because God’s supposed to love everyone right? So why would it make sense for Him to-” Stanley felt a soft nudge on his arm. 

“I’m f-f-fucking with you.” Bill smiled a little wider. “You’re still just as a-adorable as I remember.” Stan let out a sigh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Softly, that small voice returned. Maybe he would end up okay. 

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed so much.

“I’m sorry I left.”

“Not your fault, I’m assum- I’m assuming.”

“I definitely wouldn’t have chosen to move away without telling you. I just…My dad found out some things.” Stan sighed again and forced himself to stop biting at his nails, very tactfully avoiding that subject. “He didn’t want me around you anymore. It was nothing you did, I swear, but I guess it was more like he didn’t want me around anyone anymore.”

“What a fuckface.” 

Stanley laughed for the first time in a long while. It felt so good. “You know what? Yeah.” A bit of adrenaline started creeping back into his system. This feeling was quite new, but Stan decided not to run from it. “I thought I would be controlled by him forever.”

“No offense, b-but I’m sort of surprised at how well you- how well you’re taking t-this.”

“I’m a master of disassociation.” Another Google search term. “Not the healthiest thing in the world, but it’s how I survived, I guess. Honestly, I was preparing for this since I graduated.” 

“H-how did you know an-any different? Like, I know some k-kids get Stockholm Syn- Stockholm Syndrome ‘n shit…”

Talking through his issues was a luxury Stan never could afford in his youth. Bill somehow made the foreign concept of processing things in a healthy way not so daunting, and although the voice in his brain was nowhere near gone, he felt Bill’s voice slowly drown out the noise. 

Stanley sat up a little straighter, meeting Bill’s eyes sincerely. He thought of Bill’s kindness to him since the first day Stan arrived at the private school his dad forced him to go to after he graduated eighth grade. Bill was a Sophomore, but he made the decision to sit with the shy new kid who sat alone at lunch and be the first person to give him a legitimate chance. “I knew the difference because I met somebody back in highschool who treated me like I mattered. It gave me hope.”

The look Bill returned was one Stan could only describe as astonishment. After a moment, he gave one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen on a human being. “I m-missed you, buddy.”

That old feeling Stan had forgotten about greeted him like an old friend. 

***

The next morning was hell. 

Bill had work, so that left Stanley waking up alone in the apartment with his thoughts. A sudden rise of panic flooded through him, so pungent with acid he choked on the thought alone. He actually got kicked out. His dad never wanted to speak to him again. 

He was completely and utterly alone from here on out.

Not alone, a friendly thought reminded him. He breathed deeply and decided to count his blessings; he currently had a roof over his head and reunited with Bill. Things would figure themselves out from there, right? Stan cursed himself for never being satisfied with that answer. 

Luckily, the apartment needed cleaning, and Stan needed mindless work. After Bill texted him back a curt, “ofc you can use the record player it’s your house for fuck sake”, followed by a “<3”, Stan spent the better half of twenty minutes selecting a record. He settled on an album he recognized and actually loved dearly-- Meat is Murder by The Smiths. Morrissey’s voice flooded the space, soothing Stanley’s soul with its magic.

Stan got to cleaning. And dancing, but nobody needed to know about that. They also didn’t need to know he used the broom handle as a microphone, because frankly, he was not keen on giving a shit about anyone’s opinions at the moment. He picked up trash, take-out containers, dirty laundry, and anything else he could find out of place. Midway through cleaning, Stan had to reset the needle so the album would play again. He even got on his knees and cleaned the goddamn baseboards until they were pristine. The only room he didn’t touch, with the exception of Bill’s (of course), was what was now his own. 

Unpacking his things felt like too much of a finality. 

And anyway, he deserved a break. He was starving. Unfortunately, nothing much could be made of the ingredients in the fridge (cans of La Croix, leftover Chinese food, and some whipped cream), so he decided against the risk of getting E.Coli in lieu of sending a text to Bill.

“I’m starving. :-(“

“almost home honey we can talk about dinner plans! ;)”

Stan settled himself on the couch and closed his eyes, revelling in the instant relaxation of his sore muscles. He could nap for ages right here, right now. In fact, he didn’t hear Bill waltz in until a distinct weight rested itself on top of Stan, unceremoniously waking him from his short-lived slumber. 

“What the hell-”

“Thanks for cleaning the h-house, Stan!” Bill gave Stan a loud kiss on the cheek and ruffled his hair. Stan couldn’t appreciate the thank-you properly, however, as he was just rudely woken up by this monster. 

“Yeah, I get it, get the fuck off me please.” Bill snorted and rolled off him, clearly amused with himself. 

“Rude comment aside-- you wanna meet my boy- boyfriend, Sleeping B-Beauty?”

Stan sat himself up. “Of course I do,” he said while yawning. “If he’s anything like you, he must be wonderful, right?” The other boy rolled his eyes fondly and gave Stan a small shove. 

“Sh-shut up, you’re dumb. He’s at s-s-some bar in town. We could eat th-there, maybe? He says they have good food.”

The offer gave Stan pause; he had never been to a bar before. Of course, Stanley did have somewhat of a public school education for a bit and access to the Internet, so he wasn’t a completely sheltered individual, but he never really got drunk or anything of the sort. Would he be expected to drink there? They weren’t even of age yet…

“Calm down, Jewish boy. He-he’s in th- in the band. You can wear s-some of my clothes, if you want.” 

Stan cleared his throat. He could do this, right? This was adulting. He was about to adult!

Fuck!

***

Stanley realized as soon as he walked in the door that Bill was right at how wildly out of place he would be. Much to Bill’s annoyance earlier, he spent the better half of an hour getting ready for this event. What does one even wear at a bar? Stanley’s best guess was very incorrect, as he showed up in a nice button-down shirt and neat black pants. 

_“You look like a l-lawyer.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

Now walking into _Greywater_ , a very unsettling name for a bar in Stanley’s opinion, he realized the people here were all much more casual, to say the very least. In fact, it seemed that looking disheveled was the dress code. Various arrays of misfit archetypes littered the neon-lit cavern bursting at the seams with noise. Everything was so loud and chaotic, Stanley couldn’t hear himself think. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise. Bill’s hand wrapped around his to lead him toward the bar in the back of the establishment, Stan guessed to make communication a tad easier, but even still found the act of ordering nachos to be an entirely unnecessary ordeal. As soon as they got their food, Bill excitedly held onto Stan and made their way to tables near the stage. 

As the previous band wrapped up their set and began packing up, Stanley took the opportunity to survey his surroundings to see what exactly he ended up getting into. Each person in this establishment would have been ranked higher than the last on his father’s Undesirables list. In fact, Stan would sort of be lying to himself if he pretended he wasn’t at all intimidated by how vibrant everyone seemed to be. The entire room commanded attention like a magnet, leaving Stan trapped in its orbit. 

Although, he would also be lying if he said he didn’t find this atmosphere incredibly intriguing either. 

People laughed and danced and didn’t seem to give a single fuck about anything anyone thought, and an envious Stanley found himself pondering over faded tattoos that littered strangers’ arms, wondering what stories they had to tell. These people probably faced so much shit just for looking the way they did, yet there was no lack of spirit in this room at all. Feelings of hope and joy and laughter and family and love all floated through the atmosphere amidst bright colors of purple and blue and pink and-

Stanley found himself utterly robbed of breath at the sight of it all. 

“Y-you doing alright?”

Stan turned his attention to a much more comforting sight, but still couldn’t find the capacity to speak. A simple nod was all he could muster before a loud, “Welcome to The Losers’ Club, assholes! I am one of your sexy hosts, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, and we’re about to fuckin’ PARTY-”

Stanley’s head whipped around just as an equally loud “ONE, TWO, THREE-” from the drummer led to the most aggressive guitar and drum combo he ever heard in his goddamn life. The audience seemed to reciprocate the aggression vehemently, shoving and jumping along to the beat, and the walls shook with the amount of energy in the room. After what Stan guessed to be the second or third scream in this song, his frazzled attention was brought to the singer of the band. 

**“I don’t care what you want me to say**

**I don’t give a fuck about it anyway-”**

Stanley was both disconcerted by the blatant profanity and enraptured by the man before him currently screaming from the top of his lungs. This song was so angry, but everyone onstage and off looked so carefree and happy. Stanley certainly never saw joy like this at temple, or anywhere else in his life for that matter. Every atom in Stan’s being seemed to come to life under the noise submerging him entirely into the unknown.

**“I don’t care who you want me to be**

**I don’t care what you want me to see**

**I can’t give a fuck about who I am-”**

Huh. 

To be quite honest, he was far from expecting music like this to resonate with him in any way. Stanley admittedly avoided unfamiliarity as often as possible, and yet, although he had never in his life heard something of this magnitude before, he actually enjoyed being continuously proven wrong tonight. The screaming didn’t even sound distracting, but more like it was meant to be woven into the song to emphasize its point. Stanley was comforted by this song, because it echoed something Stanley was always too afraid to feel, and it did so unapologetically. 

More and more, he began understanding why people seemed to feel the way they did in this room. 

This was different from any concert he had ever seen, and maybe that was because of the unadulterated passion these kids, who couldn’t have been more than his age, had for what they were doing. For example, the drummer was currently going apeshit. Stanley had absolutely no idea who could play the drums with such reckless abandon, headbanging and yelling with no thought at all about his next move, yet still be so precise, like playing was second nature, an instinct, to this kid. The very second thing Stan noticed was how the drummer looked rather different from the rest of the crowd in the place, in that he didn’t look like a punk archetype at all. This guy was wearing lavender glitter on his eyes and cheeks, and he had a matching outfit on that reminded him of something Elton John would wear in the very early days, if a bit more toned-down. He didn’t seem to be fazed by looking unique in a crowd of unique-looking people, and that was eye-catching in a way Stan could only describe as alluring. 

What the fuck was he on about? Stanley knew for sure he liked boys, but Jesus. Stanley could honestly punch himself.

The first couple songs had ended shortly after Stanley’s contemplation and began transitioning into the next. It was somewhat slower, but still just as powerful in delivery. For reasons he couldn’t place, Stanley began to realize an equally captivating sight in the room was the singer (who Stan was secretly very relieved to know was named Richie and not Mike), for a different reason entirely. To Stanley, it seemed that he not only let the rhythm lead his movements, but that he alone was the thrum of energy that filled Stan with every beat, every syllable, every chord change. Stanley knew from lessons that a performer’s job was to “sell” the song to the audience. Richie not only sold the song--- he encapsulated it, lived in it, believed in it, to the point Stanley had no choice but to watch in awe at this gangly guy with jet black hair and glasses way too large for his face. 

He felt Bill pull him up to dance, and Stan, breaking nearly every rule he thought he had all in one night, let him. No one would judge him here. No one would even give a shit. A new, euphoric feeling sizzled underneath his skin and in his stomach, growing louder the closer they got to the stage. Stanley really couldn’t place it, but if he had to give it a name, he would guess it was a feeling of safety. 

Not long after, Stan found another special aspect of this band in particular was not just the expertly crafted music and utterly delirious enjoyment of everyone in the room, but the crude banter in between songs. The drummer (who Stan was also relieved to find out was not named Mike either, but Eddie) had a microphone for the sole purpose of bickering with Richie, which only added to the experience feeling like a hangout session rather than a performance. 

“Alright Losers, this next song is for that special someone in your life. Unfortunately for me, Eddie’s mom isn’t here tonight-”

“Fuck you!”

“That’s no way to talk to your stepdad, young man-”

“I’m seconds away from shoving a drumstick directly up your-”

Both Richie and Eddie’s microphones were then muted, courtesy of Mike. 

Speaking of, Mike was damn talented. During break, Bill informed Stanley that Mike was responsible for the instrumental composition of the band, on top of being the bassist. He apparently was some sort of musical prodigy who had a knack for putting songs together. Stanley had to admit, it worked insanely well. He expected music like this to sound similar to toddlers banging pots and pans together, but every song was so inventive and made him fall in love with an entirely new genre of music all in the span of a night. 

Nearing the end of the show, an exhausted, danced-out Stan leaned on Bill for leverage as Richie began to speak again. 

“I just wanna say thank you guys so fucking much for coming out and supporting what we do. I’ve gotta admit I’m more than honored you gave us the time of day. However, I also wanna say that uh, I have a lil’ favor to ask...” Richie surveyed the room and smiled easily. “We have a really cool project in the works, and in order for it to really be brought to life the way we envisioned it, we’re gonna need a strong ass singer.” Stan could feel his heart begin to race.

A voice from the crowd yelled out, “Why? You can’t do it, Trashmouth?”

Richie actually giggled at that, and Stan was very sure his own eyes formed metaphorical hearts. “Although I consider myself to be the most perfect of individuals-”

“Beep beep, Richie-” Eddie piped in. 

“-It’s fucking difficult to belt out a chorus and do a backflip off a PA system at the same time.” A cacophony of laughter briefly rang through the crowd. “If you or anybody you know might be able to sing for us, come talk to one of us, yeah? They won’t bite, but if you ask me nicely, I very well may oblige-”

“BEEP BEEP, RICHIE-”

“Okay, okay! That’s all, I love you guys!”

Bill wordlessly took Stan’s hand after their set ended and dragged him along to meet Mike. His pulse raced with every step, because this was a Second Chance if he ever fucking saw one.

Mike’s face instantly lit up the second he saw Bill, who let go of Stan’s hand to run up and kiss him in ecstatic greeting. Stanley stood awkwardly off to the side and found himself looking at the other two breaking down their equipment. They both looked absolutely high off adrenaline as people from the crowd came up to them and gave them varying amounts of praise. Richie happened to look over and notice Stan there, who made very frightened eye contact. Richie simply gave him a slow once-over and winked. 

The sound of Mike’s voice instantly turned Stanley around before he could process what the fuck in hell just happened to him. “Is this the legendary Stan I’ve been hearing about?” Mike shook his hand, which crescendoed into an enthusiastic hug he was not at all prepared for. “It’s good to finally meet you, man.”

Normally, Stan was very nervous about meeting people, but something about this guy’s effortless charisma made everything feel so easy. “Nice to meet you, too. You all were incredible, by the way.” Bill’s attention bounced excitedly from one to the other, spectating the conversation like it was a tennis match. 

“I appreciate it!” Mike gave Stan another warm smile. “Bill’s told me a lot about you.”

“Good things, I hope?” Stan asked, returning the smile. 

“Great things,” Mike answered.

Bill laughed and put an arm around both of them. Stan, really hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt, looked over at Mike and asked,

“Hey, do you think it would be possible for me to try out? For your band?”


	2. Chapter 2

Stanley didn’t think he’d ever been so stressed listening to Elton John in his entire life.

His audition was tomorrow, which happened to be the sole topic of conversation Stan could provide all week, much to Bill’s assumedly unspoken annoyance. Stan’s situation plagued his mind with consistency. All week, he waited for responses to job applications he made as soon as possible so he would be able to contribute something to rent. On top of that, he also figured his phone would be shut off around the end of the month, so he would have to deal with that issue when it arised. This sudden whirlwind of responsibility caused a chronic simmer of panic to manifest under his skin, so he tried his absolute best to use the energy to propel him forward instead of allowing it to paralyze him. Stanley tended to have a habit of letting his anxiety control every aspect of his life-- freaking out when he was doing too much, and feeling generally uneasy when he was doing too little. His brain never allowed him to be comfortable, which was, for lack of a better term, fucking exhausting. 

Enough was enough.

Stanley took to waiting until Bill had left for work every day to practice singing, which he knew probably wasn’t wise, considering he would eventually have to perform in front of all of them (and larger crowds of people if he made it in the band), but a much younger version of himself recalled a time where that was the only way he could practice the songs he wanted to in his own house. 

That is, until Bill came home early and walked in on Stanley belting out the high notes of Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets” whilst putting away dishes, where the sound of Bill greeting him caused Stanley to harmoniously screech and shatter a plate on the kitchen tile. 

“Was that your s-song I just heard you singing?” Bill’s face looked entirely too smug for his own good in a failed attempt at holding back laughter. 

Stan, thoroughly embarrassed, picked up the larger pieces of the plate from the floor. “...Maybe.” 

“I- Is that the o- the one you’re singing tomorrow?”

Stan gave a small nod, and much to his dismay, Bill’s dumb smile grew wider. Luckily, he didn’t say anything more in favor of fetching a broom from the cupboard to begin helping Stan clean up his mess. Stan knew he really shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of Bill because he was, in fact, nailing those high notes, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being shy to perform for someone after so long. 

“You know, Stan, I f-f-forgot how much I missed hearing that.”

A curl fell in Stan’s eyes as he looked up from where he was holding the dustpan. “Huh?”

“You singing…” Bill paused, sounding out the words in his head. “That song in particular. I remember you… remember you singing it when we would go to the b- the bridge.”

Stan smiled, which he hoped conveyed more than he could ever collect together. “Holy shit, you remember that?” Bill nodded, returning the smile. “That was my favorite song on your playlist, you know.” 

“Mine, too. Although, I’ll admit it w-wasn’t when I first made it originally.” Bill had a kind of glimmer in his eyes Stan couldn’t quite place.

After a moment of silence, they threw the ceramic shards away and sat on the couch. Stanley found himself grasping at straws trying to connect words together. Luckily, Bill seemed to melt in the silence with contentment. 

Maybe… This would be the right thing to do.

“...Hey, Bill?”

“Hm?”

“Can I… Show you something?” Stan’s hands fiddled in his lap as he searched for any semblance of confidence. 

Bill shifted upright and looked at Stan quizzically. “‘Course, anything.” 

Stan could feel his heart racing a bit. He took a deep breath-- in and out-- and stood up. Bill followed him to the spare room, where Stan’s backpack lay haphazardly on the floor near the bed. Without much of another word, Stan opened a front pocket and handed Bill the small device he kept inside. 

“Is… Is this the…”

“-the iPod you gave me, yeah.” Bill flipped the iPod back and forth between his hands. Bill’s name was still written on the back in incredibly faded sharpie, and although it appeared to be much more used than when he last saw it, he could see it was taken care of. “I never really stopped listening to it, to be honest with you.” 

Bill stood there, frozen. The world seemed to stop on its axis for a moment and filled the room with deafening silence. 

“So… You’ve been l-listening to the same exact songs f- for- for like half a fucking decade?”

Stan laughed, exceedingly grateful for the small break in tension. “Maybe get off my dick, Bill!” He grabbed at the device, but Bill held it past his grasp, snickering. Stan continued to grab for the iPod, but despite his significant height advantage, could never seem to catch up with Bill’s wriggling maneuvers. Embarrassingly enough, it didn’t take Stanley long to run out of breath. After several more strings of profanities, they sat at the base of the bed, giggling and tiredly leaning on one another. Bill still never handed him back the iPod, but he couldn’t find it in him to care much at this point. 

Stan suddenly found it much easier to speak. 

“...They’re all songs you said you could envision me singing on a stage somewhere. Name in lights, and all. When you told me a voice like mine ‘shouldn’t be wasted on boring-ass choir music.’” Stan really didn’t want to make eye contact, but he could feel Bill’s too-blue eyes burning into him. Stan swallowed before continuing. “The day you gave me that made me look at a simple hobby in such a different way, and I think I owe you credit for giving me the confidence to do what I’m about to do tomorrow.” 

Holy fuck, he really couldn’t take anything he just said back. Bill’s potential reaction nearly killed Stan with worry, considering this seemed more than anything like a love confession or some cheesy shit like that. Although, Stan wondered, was it really? Of course, Bill was an astonishing human being with so much compassion he could burst at the seams with it, but this felt way different than that. Besides, Bill didn’t even know Stan liked guys. 

After he finished his inner meltdown, Stan was able to look at Bill, who returned his gaze seriously. 

“Stan, you are one of the most incredible people I think I’ve ever known, and I have nothing but faith in you. I’m so fucking glad you came back to me.” Bill gave Stan a death-grip of a hug. Pieces of Stan collected together, stronger than ever before. It was here he realized, at the very root of the matter, Stanley found himself content to simply be in Bill’s life at all. He didn’t find himself longing for a romantic relationship like he used to, when something platonic with Bill felt so right to begin with. A large part of him wished Younger Stanley shared that sentiment; it would’ve simplified so many of the shitty aspects of his life thus far. 

“I’m really nervous, Bill.” 

“You sh-shouldn’t be. After all, you’re singing the song that’s practically yours, right?”

Stan held onto Bill with an embarrassing grin. “Elton would have some shit to say about that, I think.”

“Well, to me, it- s-sounds like the song was written for you to sing it. It might as well be yours.”

All Stanley could think of to say was, “Shut up, you’re dumb,” in a voice that was unadulteratedly fond. 

“Stan the Man, there’s nothing for you to worry ab- worry about. I promise.” At last, Stan and Bill unwrapped from one another. “Let’s go make dinner; I act-tually bought groceries this time.”

“Right, okay.” Bill stood up and held out his hand for Stan to take. 

“Hey Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you sing your song for me again?”

***

During his process of getting ready, Stanley had one question: what the fuck is someone supposed to wear for a band audition? He only had an hour before Bill came home to drive him over to Mike’s, and he already wasted half of that on a shower he decided to take at the last minute to procrastinate making an inevitably wrong choice; wet curls dripped all over the bedroom floor as he searched for some kind of respectable outfit to wear. When he sent his roommate a text, Bill had merely advised him to “dress like himself,” which was damn confusing advice for someone going through a mid-life crisis at age nineteen, to be fair. So, if Bill tried to give him shit for showing up to a band rehearsal in a turtleneck, Stan could defensively remind him it was his fault entirely. 

He gave himself a once-over in the mirror. Luckily, his hair decided not to look like shit today and flopped over his forehead in a flattering, fluffy manner. The turtleneck wasn’t the worst decision ever either, considering Stanley much preferred not to get hypothermia from the ungodly weather outside. 

To Stan’s relief, Bill didn’t give him shit as he walked out and hopped in the SUV. Soft, classic rock music played from the barely-working speakers. “You ready?” Bill asked instead. He pulled out of the parking lot, effectively jolting Stan’s heart rate an exponential amount. 

“I think so. I don’t know.” He grounded himself in an air-freshener swaying back and forth below the rearview mirror, willing all of the butterflies to go away. 

“What’s making you nervous?” Bill shifted a studying glance over to Stanley momentarily before returning his focus to the road. Stanley thought about his question for a bit. Was it the singing he was nervous about?

_No. You’re just scared of rejection. Failure. Accepting defeat._

Stanley’s inner voice returned, much to his complete dismay. 

_You’re getting your hopes up. That always means disappointment, doesn’t it?_

_You’re scared that even after trying your best, it won’t ever be good enough. It wasn’t good enough for your f-_

“Probably just singing, I guess. It’s been a while.” 

“If it helps, Mike l-loves you. You h-haven’t even met Richie and Eddie yet, but they’re good people.” Bill chuckled to himself. “They’re... they’re a lot to deal with, though.” 

Stan honestly forgot about the fact he would have to perform in front of them, too. Holy shit. “Are they nice?”

Bill smiled knowingly to himself. “The nicest. Y-you can handle your own.” An elbow nudged Stan’s side after a few minutes of silence. “We’re here.”

Mike lived with Eddie in a suburban duplex not far from town. The small front lawn had impressively good upkeep in Stan’s opinion, with a small flower garden and a birdbath making the house look not so much like a bachelor pad, unlike Bill’s apartment. 

Stan’s legs helpfully decided to turn to jelly at that moment, and he nearly tripped up the stairs of the porch. He very pointedly did not make eye contact with Bill. Even though he was closest to the doorbell, he stepped aside for Bill to push it instead. Stanley prepared himself in case some evil clown came out the door and tried to eat his arm off, or anything along those lines. 

Stanley was aware he was quite literally the most ridiculous human being on the planet. 

To the surprise of no one except Stan, Mike happened to answer instead, charming and welcoming as ever. After giving Bill a warm kiss, he opened his arms to hug Stan in greeting. “Stan! Good to see you.”

Stanley still wasn’t used to so much affection from someone he barely knew. An awkward, “You, too,” was all he could really manage while he was currently in Mike’s admittedly comforting embrace. 

“Let’s make our way inside, yeah? It’s freezing. I made some coffee, but Richie’s running late; surprise, surprise.” 

A voice came from inside the house, making Stanley’s heart jolt in surprise. “Yeah, ‘cause he’s a bastard!”

Stan trailed behind Bill and Mike, taking in the scenery of their cozy home. It really did feel like a home, to be honest. Paintings were scattered about and hung up all along the entrance, to the point where it almost felt like walking through a gallery. 

“Your paintings are very lovely, Mike.” 

“Thanks!” Bill answered, much to Stan’s confusion. 

Mike clarified. “Bill made them for me and Eddie.”

At that new information, Stan did a double-take at the paintings he saw before. They were truly stunning. He didn’t pay them much attention at first, but upon further inspection, the brushwork was perfectly textured and incredibly impressive. One painting in particular caught his eye; an overview of a cityscape at night, adorned with swirling neon colors and a storm of glittering lights emitting from every building. The painting seemed to come alive under his gaze. 

“Holy shit…” Stan didn’t realize he spoke his thought aloud until Bill and Mike’s amused expressions focused on him at once. “You never told me- I mean, there’s no paintings at our- your place.”

“I prefer to w-work here. I didn’t really like being alone in the apartment, so I set up sh-shop where I had someone to hold me accountable.” Bill nudged Mike’s side, who tickled him lightly. 

The voice spoke again. “Hey, is this a part of a grand entrance or some shit? I would like to maybe see the guy sometime today; I even got all dressed up and pretty.”

Mike chuckled in a light-hearted manner, leading them out into the living room where Eddie sat. Stan instantly felt his throat catch. Eddie was leaned out on the couch, relaxed and wearing gym shorts with a muscle tee that said “GET FUCKED” on it. At the sight of Stan, Eddie’s eyes widened minutely, and he jumped up to shake his hand.

At this point, Stanley realized he probably should introduce himself. “Hi- uh, I’m Stan. Stanley Uris.” Smooth. “...Nice to meet you.” Stan really hoped his hand didn’t feel as sweaty as he thought it did.

Eddie greeted him with a very disarming, genuine smile. Stan fixated on the faint residual glitter sparkling near the outer corner of his eye. “Eddie Kaspbrack. The pleasure’s all mine.” Stan noticed their hands let go about a second too long, but he chalked that observation up to his relentless nerves.

“Wow, since when did you get so polite?” a bewildered Mike asked.

“Since we had a guest in our home, Douche Canoe.” 

“That never stopped you bef-f-” a glare from Eddie stalled Bill’s sentence before he could complete his thought. Eddie’s brows furrowed in annoyance at a very smug Bill, who seemed to have a lot to feel smug about today, but Stanley had no idea what for. This led to an odd staring match between the two of them that Stanley didn’t know how to redirect. 

Mike saved the day by asking Stanley if he wanted anything to drink, to which Stanley hastily replied with a resounding _“Yespleasethatwouldbelovely!”_

“Come see what we got.” As Mike led Stanley into the kitchen, he leaned in to whisper into Stan’s ear. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a sweetheart, I promise. He’s always been really good at reading people-- though if you ask me, the fact you already seem to be on his good side is pretty rare.”

“He-I’m sorry?” Stanley obviously had the most exquisite of social wit today. 

Mike, not normally so cryptic, merely gave a smile and clapped Stan’s shoulder gently. He spoke in a normal voice this time. “I think we have Sprite, Water-”

“Uh, water’s fine,” Stan resigned. 

Mike handed him a bottle of water and winked. Alright then. 

Stanley had to admit, his curiosity was piqued. “How did he act when you first met him?” 

Mike smiled. “Let’s just say, it wasn’t something you put on a Hallmark greeting card.”

The sound of the door unceremoniously opening with a bang pulled Stanley’s immediate attention, followed by a loud “What’s up, fuckers!”

“Look at the fuckwad who finally decided to show up!” Stan and Mike made their way into the living room amongst Eddie and Richie’s banter. Huh, so they were always like this. 

“Don’t be jealous, babe. You know I like it when you call me n-”

“ALRIGHT! We get it, Richie. Why the hell were you late?” said Mike, who seemed genuinely upset. 

Richie instantly deflated. “I had some personal shit going on. I’m sorry, I should have let you know.”

“Yeah, you should have. You kept our guy waiting.”

Richie assumedly had just noticed Stan was in the room, because he dramatically changed his demeanor as soon as he noticed the boy cowering behind Mike. “Hey, I remember you…” Richie sauntered over to where Stan stood absolutely petrified to the spot. Up close, he smelled like cinnamon toothpaste and some weird cologne you would find on a magazine sample, which surprisingly wasn’t unpleasant. That, combined with Stan’s erratic heartbeat and the heat rushing to his face at breakneck speed made the room suddenly spin around him. “Not that I mind seeing you again, but to what do I owe the pleasure?” A faint “Oh my fucking god,” from Eddie could only just be heard over the pounding in Stan’s ears. 

Stan swallowed hard, not really knowing how to say anything he would like to. In a perfect world, maybe he could’ve been just as suave, or at least able to form a coherent sentence. Unfortunately for him, this universe couldn’t bear such an image any time soon. He honestly couldn’t recall a time he had seen so many attractive individuals in one consecutive row. Stan now was very self-aware of his ridiculous turtleneck. 

Mike, who must’ve sensed his nervousness, firmly pushed Richie out of Stanley’s bubble. “Stanley’s here to audition, Richie. Jesus, do you remember anything I tell you?” Stanley made eye contact with Bill sitting on the couch, the one familiar person in the room, and gave him a concerned look. Bill raised a brow and gave him a subtle nod in an attempt to reassure him. 

Bill spoke up before Richie could retort. “C-Could you guys quit? You assholes are making him uncomfortable.” Wow. Blunt as ever. 

Richie bit his lip in concern and looked back at Stan with wide eyes. “Shit. I’m so sorry. Really, don’t mind me. I’m a complete ass.” Stanley figured he must get himself into situations like these a lot. 

Richie did a weird twirl, hindering Stanley’s ability to respond even more. “Rewind. Let’s start over, yeah?” he offered, waiting for Stan’s response. This kind of awkward interaction suprisingly gave Stan comfort; these were regular people. He would be fine. Probably. 

“...Ok, yeah.”

Richie walked up to Stanley again, except at a much more respectable, breatheable distance. “Hi. I’m Richie Tozier. It’s very nice to meet you.” Richie stuck his hand out for Stan to shake. Why did everyone want to shake hands? Sure, it was a normal thing for people to do when they greeted someone, but Stan’s hands were definitely sweating at an embarrassing rate at this point and- fuck it, whatever. 

“Nice to meet you, Richie. I’m Stanley Uris.” 

Richie gave Stan a merciful grin as they shook hands. “Thank you for pretending none of what I did before happened; you’re a wonderful actor. Still, I’m sorry I was a shitbag.”

Stan smirked playfully, deciding to break some of the tension. “No idea what you mean, Richie. You’ve only just greeted me, after all.” 

Richie laughed softly and gave a grateful smile back, clearly relieved. Stan was convinced he would not survive today.

“Now that Richie actually made the worst first impression in the world, are we gonna get this going?” Eddie piped up from where he was sitting on the couch. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Stan files a shitton of restraining orders before the goddamn day ends.”

Mike sighed. “Of course. Stan the Man, you ready?”

Stanley glanced at each person in the room. A couple nights ago, these people seemed unreachable; a representation of something he could never have the courage to become. But they’re just people; very good-looking people, but awkward, funny, regular human beings with flaws like his. Of course, they were also talented, but so was Stanley. Now was the time to show them he was so much more than he appeared. 

He breathed deep and put on an easy smile. “Ready as ever.”

Everyone else situated themselves on the couch in front of Stan, who sat on a stool with his acoustic guitar. As soon as he began to strum, Stanley mentally transported himself into another place entirely. Suddenly, a beach surrounded Stanley and the others, complete with crashing waves and seagulls in perfect formation. He wasn’t singing a song just to prove his worth as a band member, but for a potential family he could feel safe and loved in. Maybe this was his chance to finally be a kid, finally do what he really loved, finally have a family to call his own. After all, it’s obvious that’s what the dynamic was here. 

This was so much more than a new chapter, but a chance at a new beginning entirely. 

Elton’s words flowed effortlessly through Stanley, then, who had the stylization of the lyrics down from years of practice. His voice started off soft, like a lullaby. Nothing felt impossible here and now, when Stan was on a beach surrounded by friends, singing into the setting sun. He at first made a point not to look at any of them, in fear his immersion would crack, but as soon as he allowed a glance during a particularly intense part of the first chorus, the view he saw fueled his confidence sevenfold. 

Bill grinned proudly from ear to ear, accompanying Mike’s knowing smile. Eddie’s eyebrows were practically flying off his forehead, and Richie’s mouth subconsciously hung open in surprise. This is exactly what he wanted. 

**She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine-**

Every lyric he sang dripped with the same sentiment: I’m so much more than I appear.

Each time the chorus came around, he sang with more and more passion, feeling the song, living in the song, and soon, he felt as though he were completely alone in the room with only these lyrics to keep him company. 

Stanley expected to be stopped at any point as soon they had seen enough, but none of them made a move to stop him, so he decided not to. In fact, the high notes towards the end of the song were greeted with several appreciative whistles from Richie and Bill alike. Stan could feel himself blushing with a really good kind of adrenaline. 

This was so different from the feeling he would get when he was nervous or scared, because every time his heart beat against his chest, his confidence became unadulteratedly genuine. Stan wished he could bottle the way this felt. 

The song came to an end. Silence filled the room for a few aching seconds. 

Eddie piped up, leaning forward. “I think I speak for everyone when I say holy fucking hell, Mr. Stanley Uris, that was incredible.” Emphatic nods erupted from Richie. “However, I hope you know we aren’t an Elton John kind of band, right?” 

Stan smiled, still riding off his adrenaline-high, and took that as a challenge. “Are you sure? Those lavender overalls could’ve fooled me, Eddie.”

Laughter erupted around the room. Eddie, appreciative of the challenge, grinned back at Stan with a bitten lip. “Alright, you got me there, asshole, but you can’t say shit when you literally dress like Steve fucking Jobs.” Eddie stretched his arms over his head and relaxed into the couch, laughing along with the others. “If he can sing our dumb shit, he’s got my vote.” 

“I honestly think a voice like his is what’s gonna separate us from the rest of the shitty punk bands in Maine. How many of those guys who sing Nirvana covers every show can also sing that kind of shit? We’d be idiots not to see that.” Richie studied Stanley with an unreadable gaze. “Plus, he’s pretty. Bitches are gonna go nuts. I vote for him, too.”

Stan really tried not to blush like some kind of dumbass. He really did try, but failed, on account of him actually being the worst kind of dumbass.

Eddie clapped his hands once as a finality. “Whaddya say, Mike? Can we keep him?” 

“I think that decision lies with Stan. I already made my decision from the start, if I’m being honest.”

Bill, previously sitting quietly and observing, gave Stan a wink. “Looks like it’s unanimous, th-then! Stan?”

Stanley definitely looked like an idiot, because he absolutely could not stop grinning. “If you’ll have me, then I would love to join.” 

Cheers flooded the room as Bill stood up to give him the tightest of hugs. “Told you so.”

“Shut up!” Stan bubbled out a laugh and gently shoved him away. 

“I think we should celebrate this momentous occasion with sushi,” said Richie.

Eddie stretched from where he was sitting. “Good idea. It’ll let us know if Stan can put up with your dumb-fuckery for more than an hour.” Bill murmured in agreement. 

“Eddie, you sure know how to make a girl swoon,” Richie lilted with a very shitty Transatlantic accent. In response, a pillow flew and hit Richie squarely in the face, missing Stan by a mere few inches. Richie sank to the floor dramatically, fanning himself with increased fervor. “I can’t believe this abuse is allowed to persist!”

Mike stared at Richie, unmoved. “Eddie has a point. I’ll treat everyone except Richie.”

Richie, stopping in his tracks, regarded Mike's betrayal with shock. “What?! Why?”

“Because you always eat enough for four people and then complain about your excessive-”

“ALRIGHT- not in front of our new frontman! Jesus!” Richie made grabby motions with his hand, signaling Stan to pick him up from the floor. After a moment, Stan pulled the man towards him with unprecedented strength, causing Richie to nearly plummet into Stan as he launched him up from the floor. “Holy fuck! Go easy, Clark Kent-” 

“Shit, sorry!” Stan hastily let go of Richie after he regained his balance. “To be fair, you’re extremely light.”

“You wound me, Staniel.” Richie gave Stan an easy smile. It reminded him of the bashful smile he gave the crowd when they would whistle and yell something overly-flirtatious. 

***

The club climbed out of Bill’s SUV as soon as they arrived at a run-down sushi place in the middle of nowhere. Only two other cars were in the parking lot, and Stan assumed those were employees. The setting sun began its descent behind the establishment and painted all the guys in front of him in a golden kind of glow. Bill and Mike held one another’s hands as they walked in. Richie followed close behind them, talking animatedly about nothing in particular without caring if they gave a shit. Lagging behind them, Eddie waited for Stan to catch up. 

“I dunno if you’ve third-wheeled Mike and Bill for a whole evening before, but I’m warning you now. They’re gross as fuck.” A merciless ray of isolated sunlight glinted in Eddie’s eye and gave it a golden glow. 

Stan, very eager to break the eye contact, looked over toward the two of them. “I don’t mind. It’s cool Bill found someone who makes him so happy.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Eddie waited until Stan resumed eye contact with him. “Ever since you came back, Bill never shut up about you. Mike even seemed to get a good feeling about you, and he met you like once. I can kinda see why now.”

“Huh?”

“You seem like a really good kid. Sorry if I’m sounding creepy or whatever, but so many times I see people who just, act like they’re the shit when they really aren’t. But you have some weird kind of passion I really vibe with. Don’t doubt yourself so much.” 

“I-” Stan was at a loss for words. “Sorry, but where did that come from?” 

Eddie broke eye contact and stared at his shoes. “I guess that was weird as fuck to say to someone I just met, but like… I dunno. I guess you’re like our missing puzzle piece. I know all this seems nerve-wracking at first, but I just wanted to reassure you that you’re clearly a force to be reckoned with. Carry that kind of energy with you.” Eddie didn’t look back up at Stan, but Stan couldn’t bring himself to tear away his astonished gaze.

“Thank you. That’s really kind of you to say.” Stan held the door open for Eddie. “...I feel like I just got my prophecy told.” 

Eddie giggled. “You better watch out. I’m like That’s So Raven, motherfucker.” 

The two of them sat in the booth next to Richie, across from Bill and Mike. 

An excited air flowed between all of them as they chatted about future projects for the band, covers they could mix in with the originals in their set that would suit Stan’s voice, and ultimately, how far they really could go with this dream they shared. Apparently, Bill already had an official band logo in the works. 

Nothing in Stan’s life ever really could compare to this moment. This moment, where, for the first time, Stanley truly felt like he could belong somewhere. His input was actually asked for even though he knew absolutely nothing about how to run a band, much less anything about punk rock music of any kind. That didn’t seem to matter though, because his opinions were not only considered, they were welcomed more than half the time. Even simple inclusions like Richie leaning on Stan’s shoulder when he laughed at something Stan said made him feel like he could fly from exhilaration. 

Bill was right; there really was nothing to worry about. 

When Stanley arrived back at their apartment hours later, he unpacked his things so he could start decorating his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG!!!
> 
> I still very much love this AU and think about it all the time, I just have had so much going on in my life that I haven't had the mental capacity to sit and write. I hope this little chapter makes up for it though; things are just about to kick off! I just wanna say thank you so much for the lovely comments and support on my work. They motivated me beyond belief. 
> 
> With all my love ever,  
> Bitch <3


	3. Chapter 3

Things were definitely looking up for Stanley since his audition. He was able to find a job at an old used bookstore just in the center of town, a mere walking distance away from home, where he worked every week day full-time sorting books and interacting with customers. Frankly, he wasn't expecting to find the social aspect of the job appealing in the slightest, but the sort of crowd that happened to walk into a used-bookstore always seemed up for the kind of culture-driven chat Stanley rarely had the chance to indulge in before. 

He usually returned home from work a couple hours before Bill, which gave him ample time to listen to the crackly intricacies of the demo Mike gave him to practice the vocals for. There wasn't a single song on there he didn't enjoy, which really made him that much more excited for their first rehearsal together in roughly two days. Not that he was counting down the days or anything. That would sound ridiculous. And desperate. Especially if he had a countdown app on his phone for the occasion…

He decided judgement was warranted, but still. Fuck off. 

In the meantime, however, Stan happened to revel in the little moments of his life as it was. He actually found himself thinking of the future with excited anticipation, rather than as a means of biding his time. Everything felt as though it were on the brink of falling into place instead of falling into ruin-- although getting his hopes up often meant disappointment of unprecedented natures, such worries had little presence in his mind at all. Maybe Bill's incessant optimism rubbed off on him in some way, although Stan would never ever admit how grateful he was for it. 

A humming, content kind of quiet occupied Stan’s day today. Work was a bit slow, so he actually had time to catch up on reading to distract his mind. Sunlight filtered through dusty windows, dissipating through particles in the air and cascading onto the oak floor in rays amidst gaps in the bookshelves. Stan loved how the floorboards sounded when he walked. He loved the sound of book pages turning, of amiable chatter from a couple rows down, as though nothing could disturb the wall of serenity surrounding every fibre of his being in this very moment.

A bell chime alerted Stanley to the opening door. 

Of fucking course. 

Richie Tozier happened to waltz through, seemingly commanding the entire establishment's attention with the simple action of existence. Stan hadn't seen him since the audition, but frankly, the sight of Richie was something he could probably never quite prepare for regardless. Richie seemed to compose an effortless contrast against the neutral, muted, earthy surroundings echoing Stan's very nature. Stan, with his mousy brown hair and sort-of-maybe-hazel eyes, with his clothing choice rarely differing from that color scheme-- this kind of place suited a guy like him; he could blend in here. Richie, however, with raven hair and unruly eyes contrasting effortlessly against the mismatch of patterns he assembled as an outfit, had the exact opposite effect in this place. The sheer intensity of how out-of-place he looked, yet how blasé he seemed about such a fact, was jarring to say the least. 

Their eyes met just as Stan realized he probably looked like a massive idiot for staring so long and not saying anything. Instantly, Richie's demeanor lit up in recognition, and he made his way over to where Stan sat behind the cash register. "Stan! Wow, had absolutely no idea you worked here! Isn't that bananas?" He suddenly made a dramatic performance of surprise, gesturing to the two overpriced coffees in his hand from the shop next door. "Wow, and I just happen to have not one, but two coffees here, in my hands? Isn't this just a day filled with coincidence?" 

It was then Stanley begged God to smite him where he stood. "...Coincidence," Stanley repeated dumbly, still trying to convince himself that's all this was. 

Richie's bashful smile erased that doubt instantly. "Oh, yeah, you know me. I love shit like..." He glanced at a book on the counter beside him. "The Symbolist Movement In Literature… totally my fuckin’ jam." 

Stan couldn't help himself from laughing at the absurdity of this situation. "There's not a doubt in my mind you're a man of utmost culture, Richie." 

"I can be very surprising at times. Especially when I'm trying to impress someone." Instant bells went off in Stan's mind. What did that mean? Was Richie trying to impress him? Why? It’s as if he had no idea Stan replayed bits and pieces of Richie’s performance onstage in his mind all throughout the day just to live that moment of cathartic revelation again. Or that he spent his nights listening to Richie’s voice on the demo, simply for vocal accuracy, of course. On second thought, maybe Richie shouldn’t know any of that. Ever. 

Before he could reply some idiotic, sputtering response, Richie gave him an out. "Coffee? I didn't know what you might've liked, but I just ordered what I usually get. I am a man of taste, after all." Richie handed him the coffee with the smallest hint of a lopsided grin, and his glasses glinted in the sunlight. It actually took a moment for Stan to register anything Richie said beyond his overwhelmingly incoherent thoughts of cute boy standing in front of me cute boy smiling at me cute boy flirting??? Is it possible??? What the hell is my life anymore????

Stan mumbled a thanks in lieu of embarrassing himself, took a sip, and nearly spit it out entirely. "Fuck!” Stan blurted, forcing himself to swallow the drink so he didn’t ruin any nearby books. If he didn’t care about keeping his job, that spit take would’ve been one for the ages. “I think I just immediately got diabetes. What the hell is in this?" 

"It's my own special concoction. If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Richie winked and took a giant sip of his own. "However, I'll disclose one thing. It's definitely more sugar than coffee."

"Yeah, I probably could've deducted that from a mile off. Jesus Christ." Richie's responding laughter brought him back into the reality of the moment. "How did you know I worked here?"

"I dunno, Stan. Isn't it enough for me to hide my sources and be all sexy and mysterious?"

"You asked Bill," Stan said. It wasn't a question. 

"I asked Bill." 

"As much as I appreciate the free, uh, sugar coma, can I maybe ask why you decided to surprise me at my work? Don't get me wrong, it's super thoughtful and I appreciate it, but I guess you can't blame me for being curious." Richie, at this point, very blatantly avoided eye contact. 

"I, um, realized I didn't have your number yet. It's kinda necessary for band shit, right?"

Stan meant to sigh, but instead it came out as more of a breathy giggle, which really just made him want to crawl in a hole and die. Stan collected himself, and pressed the matter further. He never was one to turn down a mystery, after all. "So let me get this straight, ok? You messaged Bill to ask me the address of where I worked, so you could come here and ask me in person, instead of just asking Bill what my number was like Mike did?" He dissolved into another fit of embarrassing giggles as he met Richie's dumbfounded expression. 

He put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, you caught me Sherlock, I just wanted to hang out with you for a little while. Is that okay with you?"

The moment sobered a little at Richie’s earnestness. "I- yeah, of course. You just kinda have to forgive me for being surprised someone's going out of their way to hang out with me, is all." Shit. He really hadn't meant to have said that.

Richie gave him a smile Stan had never seen before. It looked reserved, but entirely genuine. "With me around, you’ll have to get used to it, Staniel.” Such a simple statement really shouldn’t make Stan feel like he was one breath away from floating off into space. It really shouldn’t have. “I guess I really just want a chance to get to know you without the rest of the guys in the way. It's not often I let other people sing the shit I write, but I gotta say, I'm stoked to see what you can do with it."

"Wait... you wrote the lyrics?"

"All of 'em!" Richie said proudly. 

Wow. "Wow. I guess I just assumed it was a combined effort. You really have a gift." That would be an understatement. Stan, literary junkie he prized himself on being, loved every minute of analyzing the lyrics on the demo. They all flowed so brilliantly, yet were cohesive and poetic enough to really speak to Stanley on another level. Against the aggressive nature of the composition, the soulful, sometimes heart-wrenching lyrics spoke to Stan in such a way, they might have even been imbedded into his subconscious. Now that he thought about it, the lyrics seemed to encapsulate Richie perfectly. Some of the songs were flirty, way sexier than anything Stan was comfortable singing, but others were softer, more like a lullaby someone would sing to keep themselves sane. The more of Richie’s contrasts Stan happened to discover, the more he found himself entranced by it all. 

Richie rubbed his nose self-consciously and focused on his coffee. "Nah, I just write how I feel. Mike's the real genius."

"There’s no need to be so modest about it.” Stan took another awful sip of coffee. The taste sort of grew on him, though. “I honestly adore your writing style. Guess you really are a man of culture after all, huh?"

They looked at each other then. A pair of knowing smiles exchanged themselves. "Takes one to know one. Right, Stan?" Richie raised his coffee cup. Stan mirrored him, clinking the two together. The two studied each other, sipping coffee and allowing themselves to indulge in the moment, perhaps longer than would be casual. Stanley Uris was practically on fire.

A loud cough coming from behind Richie startled the both of them, where a young woman with her hair in a slicked-back bun stood with half a dozen books in her hands. Stan apologized profusely and shooed Richie to the side so he could actually do his job. All the while, Stan could feel Richie studying him from where he leaned back against the counter. It made everything so much more unnerving, leading him to dropping one of the books she handed him. Like a dumbass. 

After she left, Richie sauntered back over to his place directly in front of Stan. "So, when does your shift end?"

"...In an hour." 

Richie checked the watch on his phone. "I can wait around and walk you home if you want." He must have noticed Stan's dubious expression. "You won't even know I'm here. Scout's honor." 

As much as he was willing to retort with a comment about how he can find his way home just fine, he really appreciated this unexpectedly kind gesture Richie was offering to him. Maybe he would be able to accept the kindness the universe offered to him. 

He also considered that maybe the crush he had on literally half of his fucking band would dissapate with the more exposure he got of them. Not like that. Definitely not like that, Stan. Jesus.

"You sure you can wait that long?"

"But of course! I have…” Richie picked up the same book from before. “the interesting pontifications of philosophy to keep me company, plus Tetris." Richie winked and retreated from the counter to sit on the sofa right beside it. This was going to be the longest hour of his fucking life. 

***

Much to Stan’s relief, Richie was perfectly pleasant company the entire time. Aside from their idle banter, he actually helped to organize some of the books that had been stock-piling behind the counter just to be kind. As Stan closed up shop, Richie followed behind him. "No offense, but even after only talking to you like once before this, I'm surprised you managed to stay quiet for a whole entire hour."

Richie's startled laughter pulled his attention. "Only because watching you work is like a nature documentary I’d watch at four A.M.." He drifted into what he wrongly assumed was a passable Australian accent, crouching and gesticulating towards Stan alarmingly.   
"G'Day mates, it's me, Steve Irwin, here to reveal to you the wonder and beauty of the species known as Stanley Uris. Isn't he juuuust gorgeous, folks?" 

Despite himself, Stan couldn't stop laughing. Mainly to cover up the fact he was blushing profusely, once again. Why was he doing this? Was Richie just, like this? Apparently so, because Richie seemed proud of how his stupid joke affected Stan. "Disrespecting the dead, Tozier. You're actually an idiot; I take back everything I said." Stan opened the door to let Richie out of the shop first. The sun was just beginning to set.

"Aw, c'mon! I'm using all my best material here!" Richie poked Stan's back, while Stan tried not to be too obvious about his hand shaking as he locked the entrance. "And I restrained myself! I could've talked about mating rituals, Staniel. I could've gone in depth about mating rituals." 

"How could I possibly thank you for preserving my fragile sanctity?" Stan turned to Richie, facing the golden rays of the sun peaking through buildings. They both stood, really looking at one another, basking in the gold. Richie smiled, but it felt less for Stan's benefit. It seemed more like a smile of someone who made a discovery. A private moment to himself. 

After a while, Richie spoke. "I really... Really am restraining myself from making jokes about what you just said. So many."

"You talk about restraining yourself an awful lot, Richie. Have something to share with the class?" Today just happened to be filled with shocking revelations. Where did this side of Stan come from? All of this vaguely flirty, confident banter back and forth was never something Stan thought he could manage, but here the two of them were, talking as easily as breathing. The sun officially began to set behind the buildings, cueing the guys to start walking before it got too dark. 

"What goes on in the depths of this old cranium is never something to be shared in a learning environment. Except maybe intense psychological analysis or some shit, but, like, the kind you have to have your mom sign a waiver to participate in."

Stan couldn't help but notice how the two of them looked as they walked side by side. Richie was everything loud, colorful, exciting, like a thunderstorm displayed against a background of neon lighting. In comparison, Stan didn't consider himself much to look at. Maybe he was a comforting presence-- an autumn leaf, trying to find its footing. Although he assumed Richie wasn't the straightest ruler in the drawer, or however the stupid saying went, he probably wouldn't find much interest in someone like Stan. He would probably like someone like...

Eddie. If Richie was a thunderstorm, Eddie felt like an earthquake. Dangerous, unyielding, unapologetically knocking you off your feet, yet beautiful all the same. He thought of Richie and Eddie’s dynamic, visible and attention-grabbing as it was, both on-stage and off; Stanley would manage nothing but a collapse in their wake. 

Maybe Stan was overthinking everything, but, granted, making sense of the world through flowery symbolism and tired cliches was what he did best. Stanley Uris: a dusty, outdated book of a person. 

The rest of their talk consisted of casual news about the band and a small dosage of shy glances. As they reached Stan’s apartment building, Richie stilled him by softly grabbing his wrist. Stan, startled, could only process the way the streetlights made Richie’s raven hair glow into a golden halo. “Sorry, I forgot to ask your number even though that was totally 100% the reason I visited you,” Richie said, letting go immediately. “Work-related chat only. Absolutely no dumb pictures of my houseplants unless it’s an emergency.”

“Now I’m second-guessing giving it to you.”

Richie grinned. “So, non-work related chat only… Be careful what you wish for.”

Stan gave Richie his phone. “Send me a text so you have it, dumbass.” Richie typed out something that took way longer than a “Hello,” and gave the phone back turned off. “Thanks for the coffee, by the way.”

“Thanks for letting me crash your shift. I think things are gonna be looking up for the Losers really soon, and I gotta say I’m really excited to see what you’re like onstage, Mr. Uris..”

Stan scoffed. “Probably not much different from how I am in real life, which is awkward as fuck. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”

Richie started taking backwards steps. “It usually doesn’t work out that way, trust me. Don’t worry too much, and let the music speak for itself. Have a good night, Stan!”

“Good night, Richie. See y- YOU BASTARD!”

Richie’s cackling was the only response as he skipped away. Stan looked back down at his phone, really grateful the awful overhead lighting covered the blood rushing to his face for the dozenth time that day. 

S: thanks 4 the sex, baby,,, u were so good xox <3

Three dots appeared, indicating Richie’s response.

R: more where that came from bb <3 xoxoxoxoxox

S: I’m going to murder you on the spot. 

R: ;-) sounds kinky

Stan was absolutely, catastrophically fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there probably isn't much interest for this anymore, but I really still do love this dynamic and I wanna keep writing it. So I'm gonna. Thank you dearly if you happen to read it <3
> 
> As always, if you liked it, leaving a lil comment really increases my motivation for this thing because the ball is just about to get rolling xoxoxoxoxox  
> -Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, a giant thank you to my lovely friends who made me even more excited about this than I already was, and an even bigger thank you to those of you who decided to read this and give my self-indulgent AU a chance. Comments are always deeply appreciated, and I hope you all enjoy going on this journey along with me. 
> 
> -Bitch <3


End file.
